


i carry you with me (until the curtain falls)

by satanwastaken (kafkaesques)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafkaesques/pseuds/satanwastaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen thousand and five hundred cigarettes, six hundred painkillers and one lost world championship later, Tobio still can't make it through the day without thinking of Hinata.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you are the one i have searched for, in many lands, in every weather

The document must be forged. It must be faked. They might have confused someone's name with his.

Or this was all a happy, unrealistic dream. One he was going to wake up from very soon, and very painfully.

"Your face is doing that scary thing again," Hinata tells him.

Tobio abruptly gains awareness of the tension in his facial muscles, so he attempts in vain to loosen them a little, because he merely ends up straining them further. He must look like he just took a bite of a lemon, which - beyond doubt - he did not.

"And now you're making it worse," Hinata laughs.

It makes Tobio smile. Now it does. A few months ago he'd have spontaneously combusted on the spot due to the rush of blood to his head. Then again, a few months ago, things were different between Hinata and him. _He_ used to be different. He changed, and - if you asked him - not for the worse.

"It's just so hard to believe," he reasons. The words have by now become familiar and repetitive - of course, theoretically there are myriad ways to express the sheer absurdity and unlikelihood of this situation, but practically Tobio is still just a teenage boy who spends most of his time and energy with playing volleyball in lieu of extending his vocabulary, so it isn't surprising to either of them that this exact sentence has come from his mouth about sixty times that day - and little else, incidentally.

"Well," says Hinata, rising to his feet, "you can stay here not believing it. I'm gonna go home."

Tobio stands, too, inevitably towering over the other - both have grown, naturally, in the past years, yet the younger boy still outmatches him. In fact - and Tobio is a thousand percent certain, because they measured - he surpasses Hinata by twenty one centimetres rather than just nineteen. Hinata, of course, had not been amused.

"And do what?" Tobio asks.

Hinata's face contorts into that look he usually graces Tobio with during study sessions whenever the setter fails to understand a concept that is, according to Hinata, "super simple", even though he himself only comprehended said concept thanks to either Tsukishima or Yachi. It is the typical look of unjustified arrogance that Hinata often assumes - or, rather, assumed.

Inside him, something happens. He's felt this before - when a serve or a set go awry, when he realises he's forgotten his homework at home, when Hinata ignores him for being "inconsiderate". It feels a little like his heart sinks a little, like a stone in water. The sensation doesn't last long, but the aftermath consists of his stomach lurching strangely, as if there was a knot in his guts. It's not an agreeable feeling.

But not unfamiliar, and he knows now what set it off, what caused it: The Thought. The thought he promised himself he wouldn't think. A path he wouldn't go down, in fear of the knots within thightening even more. The thought of the past ending every moment at a time, and the thought of the future starting right now, at this instant - and the notion of the fact that he was helpless in the face of those thoughts.

Because, now, today, and the time following, he will no longer be able to flee from those thoughts.

The chase is over. He is caught. Hands over the head, face to the ground, unmoving.

"Celebrate, you idiot," says Hinata playfully, cutting through his train of thought.

"You're the idiot," Tobio replies, on auto-pilot. They've been playing this game for three years now - and while it has grown into a custom, Tobio hopes sincerely that it can stay just that.

But, as it stands, the facts are pointing unerringly in the opposite direction.

Though Hinata's mind lacks wit and revolves solely around volleyball, Tobio will hand it to him that he has a certain grade of empathy resemblant emotional intelligence - on his good days, if he isn't hungry or immersed in his favourite (and only) sport.

Today seems to be such a day - and why wouldn't it be a good day for the two of them? They have just received their graduation certificates, as unfathomable as it may seem. Tobio has every reason to be happy - no more school, which equals no more studying, at least for some months, which he can and will happily spend playing volleyball, and his future promises a scholarship at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, where he is to join the team and has the best chance to be scouted, to eventually fulfill his dream (his purpose) of playing for the national team.

His future is bright and ready to be lived.

But he can't. He can't, and the reason stands right before him and gazes at him with brown eyes that spell out Hinata's insight.

"Come on," says Hinata, turning on his heels and beginning his wark toward the bike stands.

Tobio follows blindly, numbly. It isn't unfamiliar - almost a déjà-vu, of the way he had been feeling too many times in the past few years. Hinata guiding him, showing the way, even though it really should be the other way around.

(Should it?)

"I'm invited?" Tobio taunts. If Hinata chooses this exact moment to turn around and look at him, he will see an imitation of a grin that does not reach his eyes.

But he doesn't - he doesn't turn around. Just keeps walking, nearing his bike.

"You know, judging from you continually asking stupid questions, one could really conclude you're actually stupid," Hinata teases right back - in his voice Tobio can sense a grin, but a clenching feeling in his stomach lets him think it might just be as fake as his own.

Maybe - maybe he isn't alone in this, after all. Maybe he isn't the only one stuck in the present when it's high time they faced their futures.

"Big words, coming from you," he jeers.

"Come _on_ ," Hinata sighs, and it takes Tobio a second to realise he's not being addressed - Hinata is talking to his bike lock, which he is apparently unable to dislodge. He wheels around to face Tobio, a wild laugh leaving his throat. "My hands - my hands are shaking. They're literally -"

"I heard you the _first_ time, idiot," he snaps irritably. In two strides he's next to Hinata, hands grasping the other's thin wrist and wiry forearm. Tobio pulls him away from the lock to examine it himself - he has memorised the number code since the first time he watched the other unlock it, and he _knows_ the digits by heart, really, but his own hands do not seem to be willing to cooperate.

"Your hands are shaking, too," Hinata notes cheerfully.

Tobio can physically feel his thread of patience ripping, unfurling a violent streak that he has learned to control over the years, but still breaks out from time to time. In a hundred percent of all cases, Hinata is in some way involved.

"I will throttle you," he threatens, only semi-playfully. He suspects his alpha alleles are always somehow at work here, taking control, because when he looks back at Hinata with bared teeth, he perceives a light shift in the scent that is permeating throughout the air around them, and - for a split second - all his brain lets him see is a fightened omega.

Then he snaps out of it, and it is over.

Hinata merely brushes it off with a hurried, "Guess we're still excited because of the, uh, from the ceremony ..."

Tobio wants to apologise. He really, really does. But _sorry_ has never been an easy word for him. And regret has never been an easy feeling.

Their eyes meet, but Hinata looks away, and Tobio keeps silent.

"Let's go," the smaller boy says.

Tobio follows. When they leave the parking lot, he can see Hinata's hands - now rigid - gripping the handles of his bike.

* * *

Tobio hadn't thought it possible that there could be _two_ elephants in a room, but there were.

Firstly, he should probably have gone to his own home first, because - he actually did _graduate_. And while Hinata's family has become his family, in a strange way, celebrating his graduation like he was their actual son (and brother), he couldn't help but feel obligated to let his mother know, too.

Sometime after dinner at Hinata's - graciously provided by his mother, who insisted they both deserved a meal fit for kings - he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. There he calls their landline.

After waiting out the ringing, he is met with the voice of the answering machine.

He hangs up and wanders back into Hinata's bedroom.

"Your mum at work?" the boy asks, seemingly disinterested, but Tobio catches him watching him out of the corner of his eyes. The redhead lies bonelessly on his futon, hair contrasting vastly with the green comforter, phone in hand and texting - presumably with Kenma, because who else?

Tobio suppresses the nasty dark feeling rising within him at the thought. Instead he opts for a quiet hum of affirmation. He can still recall vividly the conversation he'd had about Hinata's friendship with Nekoma's former setter - the first and the only one he'll ever have, certainly. After that Tobio was acutely aware of Hinata's disapproving attitude towards his jealousy, and - more than that - the boy's avoidance of ...

Well. The first elephant.

Hinata is confrontational. At all times, Hinata might evolve into a livid firestorm, a natural force beyond anyone's control.

Save this.

Tobio should be able to take the moral high ground in this - except this concept is also true for himself and the second elephant.

He closes his eyes and counts to ten. Then counts from ten backwards. He opens his eyes, but nothing has changed.

This is harder than he thought it would be, he realises, but then corrects himself. This is exactly as hard as he'd mapped it out.

He closes his eyes and counts again.

* * *

"Hinata."

"Hm?"

"Would you ... mate with me?"

* * *

Fourteen thousand and five hundred cigarettes, six hundred painkillers and one lost world championship later, Tobio still can't make it through the day without thinking of Hinata.


	2. trapped in the amber of the moment

Of course, he can't know for sure. He hasn't counted the cigarettes and the painkillers one by one, naturally - who does? But he's all too familiar with the numb guilt of consuming the contents of one cigarette pack in one day, of which one - mostly the first - is usually (always) accompanied by black coffee and one pill.

He prides himself on his moderation.

As if by law of nature, his mother does not share his enthusiasm for his lifestyle. But he can live with it, because he does no longer have to share living quarters with her. He's on his own, now, albeit forced to cram his entire existence onto eight paltry square metres. At least the one-room flat - actually more of a one-cubby flat - has space in the form of "upward". And unlike the students on campus, he doesn't have to share his bathroom. Even though it is only scarcely larger than a cubicle, he has it all to himself.

It's the only rent he can afford with this scholarship and his part time job as "assistent coach" at a local high school, which, admittedly, mostly has him fulfilling the duties of the ball-boy.

That, of course, he chooses not to tell his mother. It's fine, because - technically - he doesn't lie. What he _does_ lie about is the cigarettes and the painkillers, of course. If anyone asked his mother, she'd tell them her good boy did smoke, yes, but only occasionally, and at least he doesn't drink, right? She'd tell them he's a good boy on a good path that could have been better but is acceptable nonetheless.

If his mother only knew of his porn history. She'd think very differently of him.

"Practice dismissed," the Coach coach yells, and Tobio snaps out of his daily re-occurring reverie.

He sighs as he moves from his spot on the sidelines to disassemble the net. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the students shuffle to leave the gym, which he is secretly glad for, but the coach destroys his tentative bliss by shouting a gruff, "You can go change after you've helped tidying up. Come on, move it!"

The coach is right, of course - it isn't customary for schools to hire "assistent coaches", because they only end up doing the jobs no one wants to do. Which are, of course, usually done by the students. But Tobio can't help but feel awkward and misplaced amidst the players. Most of them remind him too much of his former self - and it aches, because his former self is someone he can't be anymore.

The train has left the station, as they say.

Unlike him, they are still full of hope, optimistic. Unlike him, they can still play volleyball and have fun without inhibitions.

* * *

Tobio knows they're good. He tries not to become too involved, and pretends not to care, but volleyball is his blood, and it's impossible to ignore what is so plainly obvious: the team is amazing. It's difficult for him to put into words exactly why - but he knows it has nothing to do with excaptional cases of exceeding individual performance. He experienced first hand that talent and ambition of one genius did not make the team the winning one.

This team is, like Nekoma back then, an alive body that keeps their blood moving and their lungs breathing. No one really stands out to a bystander, and even Tobio hasn't been able to notice anyone in particular with outstanding skills. But they work, as a team, as a group in which each player is acutely aware of each other's abilities and limits.

When he first joins their practices, he finds out they'll be representing Kyoto prefecture in nationals that year.

And in the following months, he finds out why.

* * *

There is only one boy he seems to notice in particular. At first he appears perfectly normal - a second year who aspires to be the ace next year. According to Tobio he has the best chances - he's one of the tallest and sturdiest of the team, with both vigour and ardour behind every serve and spike that surpasses most of his teammates.

In many ways, the boy reminds Tobio of Hinata. In most ways, he's completely different.

At first Tobio is mystified as to why he has taken interest in him out of all players. It's evident that he isn't in need of guidance in terms of volleyball; that he is fine on his own.

But, with every practice, it dawns on Tobio that this boy is actually nothing like his former teammate. Outside of the game, outside of the court, he's quiet and invisible, despite his stature. The interactions with his teammates is barely there to non-existent.

The realisation hits him like a spike received with his chest.

This boy is _himself_.

That day, he excuses himself early.

* * *

He doesn't care to learn any of their names. He has a plan, actually: If he quits smoking, the money he'll save is easily twice as much as he earns collecting balls after every practice. That plan, of course, requires that he actually does _quit_ , which is really easier said than done.

So, for now, he remains stuck watching his former self playing his former _raison d'être_ , while his current self is incarcerated in a limbo he cannot seem to escape from.

It's bound to happen sooner or later, he knows, but he'd actually prefer later - yet, when that particular boy approaches him once after practice as he is about to reward himself for his patience with an after-practice-smoke, he can't exactly say _no, go away_.

The boy introduces himself, and the name is gone from Tobio's brain the next second. He isn't prepared for this situation - with how he wished to postpone it for as long as possible, or perhaps even avoid it.

"You're Kageyama Tobio, right?" the boy asks as they leave the gym.

Tobio's only answer is a nod. For all those boys knew, he could be mute. He can't recall a single instance in which he uttered a sound.

"You played for Japan, didn't you?" the boy presses, excitement leaking into his voice.

Tobio does not share the sentiment. Iciness spreads from his chest into his limbs as vivid manifestations of fruitless hope and broken spirits flash in front of his inner eye. His throat closes up just as he is on the verge of his verbal answer.

It's difficult to talk about this, because it'd be the first time. And for some reason, this boy - his former self - is the last person he wants to talk to concerning _this_.

So, eventually, he settles for just another nod.

The boy seems unfazed and oblivious to Tobio's struggle. In addition, he appears to have overcome - or at least temporarily forgotten - his social anxiety and general awkwardness, because when he talks to Tobio he consists only of the very same fervour that can be perceived on the court.

"You were amazing!" At Tobio's sidewise glance, he corrects himself. "I mean, of course you are, otherwise you wouldn't have made the national team - but still!" He smiles now, and it seems exactly as unfamiliar and unpractised as Tobio's back then, when he still wasted his time worrying about that. Tobio tries smiling bach, which he isn't entirely sure succeeds, and nods to show the words have arrived.

But the boy doesn't relent.

"Your serves were out of this world. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it," he compliments.

Tobio can only snort - he briefly considers telling the boy of his former senpai and rival, but decides not to. There's no point, and he really can't be bothered to be emotionally invested in anything when he spends all his feelings for a long-lost and no longer requited love.

"I was thinking," the boy continues nonetheless - by now Tobio has to suppress his annoyance and the physical urge to breathe in smoke - "if you could teach me?"

Now, he can't really say he hasn't expected this. What he _can_ say is he definitely hasn't been anticipating this moment - because, even though he knows the pain of being rejected, no matter in what way, the pain of doing the rejecting isn't a mere pinch in the arm, either.

"No," he says, voice hard and flat. At first he plans to just walk away from the damage he has done, but when he looks at the boy all he can really see is himself.

Himself before those cigarettes, painkillers and the championship.

So he says, "I'm sorry, but no," and leaves.

* * *

For a few months now, he's had a recurring dream - it remains blurry in lieu of being elucidated, and all he can really recall after waking up is the sound of cicadas, the oppressing humidity of a summer spent in the city, and airborne crows that fly away from him, and disperse in all directions.

He wakes, every time, to a feeling he can't name and a pain that is off every scale.

Realising you have a problem is the first step of getting better, they say.

What they don't talk about is the second step.

* * *

Silence.

Objectively speaking, there was silence. In Tobio's ears was the constant and unbearable echo of what he had just said.

"I think you should go," Hinata said.

And that was the last Tobio had seen of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave any kind of feedback. if you see any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> [my tumblr](http://kafkastic.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> hello (i have no excuse or explanation for this i'm sorry also maybe-or-maybe-not-smut in future chapters) bye chaps
> 
> you can yell at me [here](http://kafkastic.tumblr.com/)


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